


Sustenance

by SoftObsidian74



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Challenge Response, Community: hp_prisonerfest, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drug Addiction, F/M, Rape Roleplay, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-25 10:12:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoftObsidian74/pseuds/SoftObsidian74
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In times of war, people find different ways to survive</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I- Starvation

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by Hollywoodlawn & Julian Venere
> 
>   
> [ ](http://s289.photobucket.com/user/SoftObsidian74/media/i5sniejpg.png.html)
> 
> Banner designed by crusading_soul

“Scream for me,” Draco whispered, his hand moving quickly to wrap around Hermione’s neck.

It wasn’t really a command or a serious threat. It was her cue. Those bright diamonds that sat in place where his eyes should have been were gleaming, just for her, and she could feel the hard fleshy steel of his full erection pressed at her entrance. It was hard not to move against it when he teased her like this. She was more than ready for him, but he wouldn’t give her what she needed until she accepted his invitation. 

She shook her head in protest, beating her fists into his chest, as she screamed just like a hostage ought to. He smiled, his fingers tightening around her throat. 

It was time for Draco’s daily fix, and for Hermione there was no shame in giving him what he wanted, she’d come to need it, too.

~~*~~

 

**Seven months earlier…**

 

_A loud bang that rang out over Diagon Alley almost caused Hermione to drop her shopping bags. Before she could discern from where the noise came, her lungs began to fill with smoke. She coughed and her eyes started to tear when unseen arms lifted her. She dropped her bags, kicking and hammering at strong masculine hands with her fists, but it was no use. He seemed unaffected by her efforts, and within seconds, she felt the uncomfortable sensation of her body being squeezed, as she was Apparated._

_She tried to get a look at her captor, but he was tall and behind her, threatening to push the air out of her gut if she continued to fight. With the sting of smoke still in her eyes and lungs, she became fatigued, her insistent struggling becoming weaker by the moment._

_Panic set in, and the world became fuzzy as Hermione blacked out._

 

Hermione awoke with a start, still struggling — against nothing. After a few seconds she realized she was in bed, alone. The smell of fresh baked scones filled her nostrils and she blinked several times, trying to clear the haze over her eyes. The room remained out of focus, but she did not have to see well enough to know she was not in Shell Cottage. This room was much bigger and more heavily furnished than any she’d ever slept in. 

Finally, her sight improved, and she looked to her left where scones had been left on the nightstand, along with a cup. The nightstand was cherry wood. It appeared hand crafted, with detailed carvings of serpents and dragons along the perimeter, mirroring the rest of the furniture in the room. Her gaze dropped to the floor, a sea of tiny ruby flowers. The plush carpet was pink, just one tint of difference from the mauve curtains adorning the window and they were drawn open, around a large bay window. Hermione could only see one door straight ahead, and her head twirled side-to-side hoping to spot another one, a hidden one, that might be a source of escape. 

The patterns of the duvet began to swirl and dissolve into a kaleidoscope of color as she tried her hardest to remember what came after her last memory of being Apparated away from the smoke, but nothing came to mind. Alarm set in, and she pulled the duvet closer for comfort, trying harder to remember. But suddenly it was very tiring to think, and she began to suspect that she may have been hexed or drugged. Even thinking on that proved draining, and the soft firm mattress underneath her was tempting her back to sleep.

~~*~~

_One of his hands traveled down her side, appraising her curves. She huffed in protest until the realization hit that he had no interest in her body, but what was on it. Her struggle resumed as his hand ghosted over the imprint of the wand in her pocket._

_She kicked him with everything she had, and was pleased to hear a groan of exasperation. Perhaps he was growing tired as well._

_“Let me go, or you’ll regret it!”_

_There was a low growl in her ear and then she fell. She gaped up for a moment; surprised he had just let her go, just like that. Scrambling to her feet, she reached for her wand, and found it no longer in her pocket. It was above, pointed down at her face._

_The Death Eater standing over her motioned for her to rise with two sharp movements of her wand and she glared at him as she stood, gathering every bit of spittle in her mouth and projecting it into his face._

_Another growl, and a quick flick of the wand, and everything around Hermione went hazy._

 

She jerked, awakening herself, fear still gripping her like it did the day she’d been captured. And then sharp realization pierced her like a needle prick, compelling her to jump out of the large canopy, her feet sinking into plush carpet. For a moment she stood still, appreciating the softness of it. It had been so long since she’d walked barefoot on good carpet. Not since she last saw her parents in Australia…

She turned on her heel as a loud pop crackled in the air. A house elf had Apparated in the center of the room. 

“Missus should be in bed. The spell is bad for your head, will take a few more days to recover,” the elf scolded in a matronly tone. 

Hermione frowned. “What is your name?”

“Mimmy, Missus.”

“Where am I?”

The elf began to wring her hands. “Yous not suppose to ask such things…have you dranks your tea?”

Hermione looked at the elf in annoyance. “No!”

“Oh alright, I’ll just brings you another.”

“Forget the damn tea, just tell me where I am!” Hermione demanded. When the elf flinched, she immediately felt remorseful for lashing out at the poor creature. “I’m sorry, Mimmy… I meant to say, would you please tell me where I am?”

The elf’s eyes grew big and in another pop she was gone. 

Hermione cursed, and then went to try the door on the far left side of the room. She twisted, pulled, and shook the doorknob but it would not give. She gave it an angry kick. 

“Oww!” she cried, angrily rubbing it before turning around to walk to the window on the far left side. She tried to open it, but it was a sealed lock. There was a chair in the corner: the thought of using it to break open the window occurred to her until logic pointed out the futility of such a plan. It had to be at least six stories up from the ground. She struck the glass hard with her palm and then began to pace the length of the bedroom, her eyes mindful of everything around her. 

Even if the door was permanently locked, whoever dared to Apparate before her was going to pay dearly. She had to get out of here, wherever here was. Perhaps if she stood in the corner with a lampshade in hand, waiting for her captor, she’d have a chance. 

The loud popping sound of Apparition made her whirl on her feet. Mimmy stood in the center of the room, a trembling teacup in hand. 

Hermione turned her nose up at it and Mimmy moved to the nightstand to put it down. 

“Mimmy, can you please just answer one question for me?” Hermione pleaded.

“No. I’s just brings tea.” 

“And who sent you to bring tea for me?” she pleaded. 

Mimmy simply gave her an apologetic frown before popping out of sight. 

Hermione’s eyes drifted to the teacup on the stand. Her stomach felt empty and her mouth felt dry, but she’d be foolish to drink anything served to her here. 

She ran to the bathroom, and stared down at the sink. Sighing, she turned on the faucet and held a cupped hand underneath to bring to her mouth. 

It wasn’t spring water or Mrs. Weasley’s specialty tea, but it would have to do.

~~*~~

_“What do you mean there’s an eighth Horocrux? We followed his instructions. I did the research myself! We destroyed them all!”_

_“No, Hermione, we didn’t. There was one more, and there may be others. Dumbledore didn’t know everything…”_

_“But—”_

_“Hermione, please. I know this hard. But you have to face the truth — he’s back, he’s really back!”_

_“No, Harry! I don’t believe it. It doesn’t make any sense.”_

_“Hermione—”_

_“No, no, no, no…”_

 

“No!” Hermione screamed, sitting up in the dark clinging to the duvet the way she had clung to Harry’s strong arms on that day. But the dream of worried green eyes and the lock of red hair resting on her shoulders evaporated like rolling fog, leaving her in a stark new reality. 

She hadn’t meant to fall asleep; but constant vigilance was easier said than done. When she opened her eyes, there was nothing but darkness. All she could see were the faint outline of the strange canopy bed in which she lay, and shadows of a wardrobe and dresser. The large bay window on her right, provided no light on this night. She was drenched in sweat, and when she sat up, dizziness overtook her. Her head hurt, so she slowly reclined until it touched the headboard. 

Slowly letting go of the duvet, she considered climbing out of bed to look out of the window, but then something moved in the darkness. She froze, staring at the spot just diagonal to her bed against the wall in the corner. When it moved again she shrieked, jumping up to stand on the bed and look down at it…whatever it was.

A large black mass with a crown of stark white blond hair rose slowly and Hermione began to back up, reaching behind her to feel for the wall, the soft mattress making her steps unsteady. 

Hermione reached out, grasping for one of the poles of the poster bed. But her balance was still unstable and her head felt so heavy. She slipped and fell onto her bum. Quickly scrambling up to her knees and moving back, she watched the mass move toward her. Now that her eyes were adjusting she could make out his slender masculine form.

“What do you mean to do with me?”

“That depends…will you cooperate?” asked a soft voice that sounded irritatingly familiar. She squinted, leaning in to try to make out the face, but it was hidden in shadow. 

“Whatever you have planned, it won’t work.”

There was no response, and Hermione’s pulse quickened as she drew closer to see who this man was. Perhaps if she kept asking questions, she’d recognize the voice. 

“How long do you plan to keep me?”

“Until you give me what I want,” he said. Now there was definitely a familiar arrogance in the tone. 

“And what exactly do you want?”

“The truth…” he said.

Hermione scoffed. “About what? How you and your lot are destroying everything that is good and right in the world?”

There was silence, and then her visitor moved. Hermione tightened every muscle she could in preparation for an attack. If she was going to go down, he was going to have a hell of a fight on his hands.

“If you touch me,” she warned.

“Get over yourself, Granger,” he said with indignation. 

Her eyes widened. The haughtiness, the words perfectly articulated and the slightest disdain surrounding her name, and when she peered further into the darkness Hermione imagined she could make out a pointy face.

“Malfoy? Ha! I should have known. Well, whatever it is you want, you’re wasting your time! I will not help you.”

“You will, or you will suffer,” he said simply.

She laughed. “Is that all you have? It’ll take much more than that to scare me, Malfoy.”

“If that is what you require, Granger, I will make it so…” 

Before she could challenge him, there was a loud pop and brief flash. He’d Disapparated, leaving Hermione standing in the dark.

~~*~~

_“Ron, what’s wrong? Where are the others?”_

_“They- they didn’t make it…”_

_“What do you mean? Where’s Luna, and Seamus?”_

_“’Mione…”_

_“Neville?”_

_“We couldn’t get out in time. We didn’t know he’d had so many left. He must have broken into Azkaban or something.”_

_“Or something,” Harry said gravely. “It’s just like before…he’s assembling an army. Only it’s worse now. The ones who lost before are pissed off…they’re more vicious…”_

_“What do you mean, Harry? What happened out there?”_

_“Please, Hermione, don’t…”_

_“Tell me what happened! Tell me!”_

 

When Hermione awoke, her body ached and there was a dull pain in her stomach. She was still twisted in the awkward position she’d fallen asleep in— gripping the bedpost, her face turned towards the chair in the corner, ready for attack. When she opened her eyes, she scolded herself for falling asleep and quickly moved back despite the pain of the sudden movement. Keen grey eyes stared back at her from the chair against the wall by the dresser. 

“Good morning, or I should say, good afternoon,” Malfoy said casually. 

He looked impeccable, his white blond locks were longer now, his grey eyes a bit older and wiser, but there was no sneer on his face, and somehow that made him almost attractive.

Hermione cringed at herself for thinking of him in such a way, and tried to jar herself back into full mindfulness by sitting up. She straightened and faced him, tightening her fist as if she had a wand to hold. 

There was a small smirk on Malfoy's face, but at the sound of Hermione’s rumbling stomach, his face grew serious. 

“I suggest you eat,” he said motioning his head to the night table, where there was tea and pastries. “Afterwards, I want you to tell me everything.”

“What makes you think I’ll talk to you about anything?” 

“There’s no need to be hostile, Granger. This doesn’t have to be unpleasant.”

“Listen, Ferret, you kidnapped me, and now you’re holding me hostage. Don’t try pretending I’m a dinner guest. We both know you’re not a nice person.”

Malfoy sighed, brushing off imaginary lint from his sleeve. “You will cooperate.” 

Hermione let out another mocking laugh. “I’d rather die than help you. Contrary to what you’ve been taught, Malfoy, you can’t always have your way.”

“Always the noble one. I think the Dark Lord was right about you,” he said, standing.

Hermione froze, staring up at him, waiting for the punch line.

But there was none. Malfoy gave her a sad frown as he approached her. She stared up at him, ready for him to hurl an insult or perhaps even assault her. But he did none of those things. He just stood there, staring at her, studying her. It was unnerving. He seemed far too rational, and frightfully calm. There was none of the animosity and hatred she had come to expect from him. 

And then withdrew his wand and turned his back to her. “We’ll talk more later,” he said. 

“Malfoy!”

He turned, his eyebrow raised. 

She wanted to demand some answers, rattle him in some way, even an angry verbal sparring would do. 

“Yes, Granger?” he said in a tone that sounded entirely too smug.

As Hermione stared back at him, she realized anything she said would reveal her lack of power. Not wanting to be the beggar or the desperate captive, she clamped down on her tongue and simply glared back at him. 

Malfoy frowned and Disapparated.

~~*~~

When he didn’t return the next day, or the day after. Hermione grew anxious, wondering what kind of game he was playing.

She continued to refuse her meals and drink, sustaining herself with only tap water from the sink. But in the last twelve hours, she found herself too weak to even draw from that. 

When Malfoy finally arrived, Hermione was all but bedridden. She watched him warily as he stalked closer to her bed, his eyes guarded and his wand at the ready. For a moment, he just stood there, locked in her gaze. She thought of rushing at him, clawing his eyes out and wrestling his wand out of his hand. And perhaps she would have two days ago, but not today.

But she was tired, and very weak. Still, she forced herself to face her captor.

“You’re not eating or drinking,” he said. 

She set her jaw, holding her tongue.

“You have to eat,” he insisted.

She turned her head, drawing her legs to her body, as she turned her head to the window. It was a bright, but from this angle the sun was obliterated from her view. Her stomach made a crass loud grumbling sound that permeated the stillness of the room.

“You see, even your stomach agrees,” he said with a light air in his words.

Was he really trying to use humour and a pleasant speaking voice to coax her into complacency? Or worse, betrayal? 

Hermione looked back at him defiantly, to show she was not amused. His mouth twitched as he lifted his chin, displeasure written all over his sharp features. 

“Granger, if you do not obey me, _he_ will take you away from me, and then your fate will be out of my hands.”

Hermione smiled tightly. “Promise?”

He sneered. “For someone so smart, you’re saying very stupid things. Yes, he will kill you, but before he does, you will suffer greatly.”

“I am not afraid of him or you,” she challenged. 

“You should be.”

She turned head once again, refusing to acknowledge the soft growl and huff of frustration from his direction. 

With the pop of his Disappariton, she exhaled, wondering how many hours it would be before her torture began.

~~*~~

_Shell Cottage was eerily silent. And for the first time in weeks, Hermione wished she could be in Australia with her parents. She had planned to visit them the following week to restore their memories. Enough time had passed._

_But now, everything was on hold again._

_As if they hadn’t had enough grief and pain, the string of disappointment and realization of false victory was too much to bear._

_They all sat around, each in their own corner, coming to terms with it. The eighth horocrux had been unleashed by one of the LeStranges._

_And now that he was back, it was even worse than before. Public faith in Harry was gone, and terrorist attacks were frequent, random and vicious._

_“What do we do now?” Ron asked everyone and no one._

_Looking at Ron’s lost expression and Harry’s forlorn face, Hermione summoned all of her inner strength. Their battle with Voldemort was not over, but neither was life…_

_“We do what we always do, we regroup, we plan, and we fight,” she said._

 

“You always were a fighter, Granger,” said that familiar voice she had come to hate over the course of her school life. 

She grimaced, cracking her eyes open. Malfoy was sitting on the bed, staring down at her, a teacup in his hand. 

The thought of throwing back the duvet to propel the tea towards him seemed like a bloody brilliant idea, but there was a dull ache in her limbs, weighing her down. Incensed by her weakness, she tried to spit out an insult, but her lips were painfully chapped, and her mouth felt like it was stuffed full of cotton. 

“But you cannot fight if you cannot move. You have to get some sustenance in you. You’re dehydrated, and I will not allow you to do this to yourself under my watch.”

Hermione stiffened and her eyes widened in fear as Malfoy slipped a careful hand behind her head, lifting it from the pillow and cradling it gently.

She wanted to turn away and then backhand the hot tea into his face. Perhaps then she could buy some time to retrieve his wand and Disapparate out of here. It was a nice fantasy, but it hurt too much for her to move at all, and she was so very thirsty. 

As the cool china touched her lips, she stared up at him. Perhaps it was poison. She could only hope.

“Drink,” he said, lifting it higher until she felt warm sweet liquid seeping past her lips. It tasted just as sweet as Mrs. Weasley’s treacle tart, or her mother’s crumble. Like better times filled with the relief of victory and hope for a new future. Her eyelids fluttered as she tried to remember.

“See, that’s not so bad,” Malfoy said as she drank.

When it was all done, he lowered her head back to the pillow, and she hummed in satisfaction. He may as well have lain her on a pile of soft feathers. She lolled her head over the pillow, smiling in satisfaction as every bit of tension left her body. 

When Hermione opened her eyes, Malfoy was staring down at her with a guarded expression she couldn’t decipher. But it didn’t matter, nothing mattered but sleep, and she could feel it lulling her into dreams. 

Perhaps she’d be able to see Ron and Harry there. That would be lovely.

“Granger,” she heard a far away voice calling. “Granger…”

“Mmm?”

“I will return tonight to make sure you are eating properly. And then, I have a few questions to ask you.”

“Alright,” she said. 

Suddenly, a few questions didn’t sound so terrible.

~~*~~

For almost a half hour, she tolerated Malfoy's questions, but gave no answers.

_“What were you doing in Diagon Alley alone?”_

_“Where was Potter and Weasley?”_

_“Tell me what you’ve been doing for the past year.”_

 

Whatever he had put into her tea had eased the tension in her body and mind, made her feel less guarded, but it did not loosen her tongue. It would take something much stronger than that. 

But Malfoy seemed patient. His face and tone revealing none of the frustration and resentment she had expected. She found that most disconcerting, and towards the end of the interrogation she felt compelled to mock him. 

“I always knew you’d end up like this. Your lot can dress it up any way they like, you’re all just a bunch of common criminals. Brainless followers. They should have thrown you in Azkaban with the rest during the first trials,” she taunted, finally breaking her silence.

Malfoy gave her a dismissive hand wave. “When he came back, he freed everyone who remained loyal, and slaughtered their jailors. Trial or no trial, I’d still be here, Granger, and so would you.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Malfoy. You’re not that clever. The only reason why I’m here, is because you caught me with my guard down.”

“Ah, but I did capture you, and that is all that matters,” he said. They stared at each other in a war of determination, and then a quiet familiar voice she longed to hear began speaking to her. She stood up and turned her back to Malfoy, massaging her temples in an effort to quiet the whispers of things she didn’t want to remember. 

_"Promise me you won’t leave without one of us with you.”_

“Granger!” Malfoy said irritably, his voice rising. 

“Just…leave me alone!” she spat, speaking both to Malfoy and the voice in her head.

“In case you hadn’t noticed,” Malfoy said. “You’re not in control here. I’ll give the orders!” 

The voice in her head grew louder, nagging…

_You can’t go out there by yourself…promise me you won’t…_

“Granger!”

The voice in her head and Malfoy's clashed horribly, like symbols out of chord. It was intolerable, she had to be alone…in silence. 

Her hands found their way to her ears, and she closed her eyes, and let out a frustrated loud groan. 

For a few blissful moments, everything went quiet, and when she finally let her hands fall and turned around, Malfoy was gone.

~~*~~

_“It’s really dangerous out there, ‘Mione.”_

_“I know, Ron. I’m not stupid.”_

_“It’s just that…you’re more important than the rest of us...it really doesn’t work without you.”_

_“Ron…”_

_“Listen, just promise me one thing…”_

_“What?”_

_“Promise me you won’t leave without one of us with you.”_

_“I’m not a child, Ronald. I can take care of myself!”_

_“Hermione…please…”_

_“Oh, alright! I promise!”_

 

It was dusk when Hermione awoke. Somehow she had managed to sleep almost the entire day. Her eyes were wet, and there were drying tears on her cheek. She scolded herself for being so self-pitying and rose to collect herself. Her eyes were immediately drawn to her nightstand, and she was disappointed to see there was no food or tea waiting for her. 

Was this punishment for not answering Malfoy's questions? She huffed and tried not to think of the hunger gnawing its way through her belly. 

Though she tried, pretending to be indifferent was no use; her mouth was watering, her nerves were hyperactive, and there was even a slight tremor in her hand. If only she had…

She shook her head, pushing the craving aside. But it came back fiercer only seconds later, forcing her to face an ugly reality — she needed her tea. 

Over the past week she had gone from abstaining from it, to wondering when it would arrive.

She licked her dry lips, trying to will away the thirst growing in her mouth. When Mimmy finally Apparated in the room with tea in her hand, Hermione felt a sense of relief, and for the first time in two weeks, something like happiness.

~~*~~

_“We’ll need to set up safe houses. It’s too dangerous to only have one headquarters now. We have to reach out to our established contacts.”_

_“That’s going to take a lot of organization, Hermione.”_

_“Leave it to me, Harry.”_

_“Hermione, what would we do without you?”_

_“You’ll never have to find out, Harry. I’ll always be here for you.”_

 

When the sunlight hit her eyes, Hermione was still holding herself and there was a strain in her jaw from smiling. It quickly faded as her eyes gained focused. Malfoy was standing near her bed, staring down at her. 

“What were you dreaming about?” he asked sternly.

She didn’t respond, instead set her jaw to show her displeasure with his presence.

He took a deep breath and looked up at the window as if preparing to give her another speech about her obligations as a prisoner. She rolled her eyes. But then he looked down on her with such gentleness and concern that she felt herself blushing. 

His eyes moved from hers to her hair. She had no doubt it was wild and tangled. She’d been struggling to detangle her curls every day without a proper brush or spell.

“What?” she asked, affronted and self-conscious at his staring.

“I’ll have Mimmy brush your hair properly.”

“I can brush it just fine, myself. I just need the right brush.”

Malfoy stood waiting.

Hermione clicked her teeth. “A nice, round, bristle brush.”

A sneer was forming on his lips and she waited for an insult, but then it faded as he seemed to think better of it. He pulled a small paperback book from his robe pocket and threw it on the bed, stunning her before turning to Disapparate.

Hermione looked down at it. “The Taming of the Shrew?” she said in annoyance. Snatching a pillow from beside her, she threw it at the very spot he had been standing only seconds before. 

She tried to hold on to her anger, focusing on the Ferret and his not so clever plot to use politeness and gifts to erode her resistance. But the scent of the fresh toast and a cup of tea were doing their work to wash away her anger. Her stomach made a funny noise, and she had to swallow as her mouth watered.

“Oh bloody hell,” she cursed as she sat up to eat and drink.

~~*~~

Hermione stared up at Malfoy in disbelief. His questions were becoming stranger by the day. They were no longer about anything specific, really. Certainly not the kind of investigative questions one usually expects as a prisoner of war. But she was sure that they were meant to throw her off, disguise his real agenda — to extract from her secrets, plans, and names.

“Just answer me,” he said.

“And why do you want to know how I spent last summer? What could you possible gain from that information?”

“That’s for me to know. Now answer me!”

She sighed, falling onto her back. Sinking into the down duvet had become one of her favorite past times. 

“No,” she said with a lazy smile, peering at him from the corner of her eye. “I want to take a nap.”

Malfoy huffed, his face pinking as he stared down at her: at her breasts, her belly, and her partially opened thighs. 

She watched him in undisguised shock, closing her legs firmly and sitting up once again.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked sharply.

“Looking at you like what?” he asked dismissively, glancing away. 

She watched him as he took a deep breath and returned cool eyes back to her. 

“What were you shopping for?”

“Pardon?”

“The day I captured you, what were you shopping for?”

“What kind of question is that?” she asked in irritation.

“Just answer the damned question.”

She pursed her lips, eyeing him suspiciously before crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Candles…and candy.”

Malfoy's brow furrowed. “Whatever for?”

“If you must know I like scented candles, and… Ron likes gummy flobberworms.” Her voice broke on Ron’s name. She hadn’t said it out loud in weeks. 

Malfoy frowned. “Are you two an item?”

“That’s none of your concern! Now I’ve answered your question, leave me.”

“You don’t give the orders here, Granger. This isn’t your hotel room: you’re my prisoner,” he said with a gruff voice, as he stood. She drew back, tense, waiting for him to exert some sort of will upon her, but he seemed hesitant and at the last moment gave a frustrated sigh before withdrawing his wand and popping out of sight, leaving Hermione very confused.

~~*~~

Over the next several weeks, Malfoy established a routine. He would mostly come in around noon, then watch her eat and drink her second serving of tea before asking her more useless questions. Questions about her family, her interests, her dislikes (she’d always make sure to include something about him when replying to those), and more abstract things like her view of the new Ministry, the war, and the meaning of life.

In those moments, it was hard not to laugh at him. Yet he always kept a straight face, and so she would answer to the best of her ability. That seemed to be satisfactory enough. 

But sometimes he didn’t come at noon. Sometimes she’d wake up and he’d be there, staring at her from the chair in the corner. Other times, he’d be standing right over her. He always remained silent, his face impassive. It was his eyes, though, that were the hardest to read. There were moments when she thought she saw shadows of concern, doubt, and confusion. But they were just shadows. She had no idea what he could possibly be concerned or confused about and she refused to allow herself to think on it. Instead, she found it easier to just scowl at him and turn her face away.

When he wasn’t there, she’d drift in and out of dreams. When she couldn’t sleep, she’d read one of the many books he’d given to her. But most often, she found herself staring out the bay window. It often beckoned her, to gaze at the field below. She’d memorized every detail: the browning grass, where the trees gathered at the far edges, and the dirt path on the right. They were definitely not at Malfoy Manor. The land was too flat, and she was too high. She often tried to tilt her head to see around the window’s borders, but there was nothing but more fields ahead. 

Fields like those at the Burrow, where the grass grew high and swayed in harmony with the wind. She smiled, remembering the peacefulness of their time there, before he came back, before it was all taken away from them. 

Frustration rose as she considered her current circumstance. She stood up, pressing her hand against the glass, looking down at the fields. The fall would be fatal if she even tried, not that she could. The window was locked and sealed. 

How long would Malfoy keep her here before he'd grow tired of her non-answers and mocking? How long would it be before the torture began, before she died?

Perhaps Harry, Ron, or one of the other Order members would find her first. There was still hope, but in the meantime, she needed something to take the edge off, and the tea always seems to do the trick.

“Mimmy!”

~~*~~

It was bright outside, the sun nearly in her view. She’d been staring out the window again when a loud popping noise and a small peep cracked the silence of the room.

The sound of Apparition hardly startled Hermione anymore. Now it simply reminded her of the sound of George’s fireworks or Harry and Ron playing Exploding Snap in the living room of the Burrow. 

Where were they now? What were they doing? 

“Missus, it’s tea time. Master Malfoy says not to leave you until I see you drank every single drop.”

Her eyes stared at the elf without seeing, as she tried to remember the Burrow. The outside was clear enough. But the inside of the house was fuzzy. Was the living room a dusty brown or green? She recalled a green leather armchair, for certain. But whether it was from the Weasley’s home or her parents’, she couldn’t be sure.

“Missus…”

She held out her hand to accept the tea, and cast eyes to the bright window. Soon the brightness would fade into a haze of pink and purples before darkness would set in. But before that happened, she had to work out whether that green armchair belonged to her father or Arthur Weasley. So she drank her tea slowly. 

It was stronger than her usual and by the time Malfoy appeared, Hermione’s head felt light and there was a wild giddiness taking over her reason. 

All she wanted to do was to whirl and dance. 

He began asking his usual nonsensical questions. Hermione smiled, trying not to laugh in his face. After ten minutes, it was no longer funny. His questions were beginning to bore her and she found it hard to stay awake. He always asked the same ones, over and over, as if he expected a different answer. Only now it was much worse, he was trying to couch them in between questions about her well-being.

“How did you sleep last night, Granger?”

“Pardon?”

“Did you have a good night’s rest?” he asked, his expression unusually focused and attentive. 

“Oh, please,” she said. “As if you care!”

“You're my prisoner; I'd like to keep you alive for a little while."

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh, and each time she tried to stop, it only made it worse. Malfoy was not laughing at all, in fact, his face was twisted in the most unattractive way. That only made her laugh harder. 

“You think this is funny?” he asked tersely. 

Her laughter dying, she simply beamed and looked up at the ceiling. “Yes, it’s hilarious.”

Malfoy made more of his frustrated noises, and started asking more questions, but his voice was fading. Hermione closed her eyes as something in her memory began tickling at her mind, only it wouldn’t reveal itself. 

“You won’t be laughing soon.”

“Oh whatever, Malfoy; you’re the worst at this torture business,” Hermione said mockingly. “You’ve been making the same threats for over a month now…besides, I’m tired,” she whined, closing her eyes once more. 

She heard a frustrated huff over her and then everything went quiet. Which was fine. It was just enough quiet for a good nap. Perhaps this time she could stay a little longer at Shell Cottage or even the Burrow. Last night’s dream had been the most vivid yet. 

Two large hands seized her by the arms, pulling her upright. Her teeth rattled as Malfoy began to shake her, his mouth tight with a scowl.

Hermione smirked at him and then stuck her tongue out. 

Malfoy let go of her, running an annoyed hand through his hair. 

Hermione laughed. She didn’t mean to do it, but it was hard not to. He looked so earnest and that was a foreign expression on his face. 

Finally, Malfoy collapsed in the chair, appearing resigned, directing his gaze to the window. “You know you have it pretty good here. Most of the rest don’t have a window, or a bed; you have no idea the conditions the others are in.”

“Hmpf,” Hermione huffed. “I didn’t ask to be put in this stuffy room!” 

“No, you just benefit from the fortune of being my prisoner. I mean look…” he said, extending his hand towards the bay window. “You even have a decent view.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes, looking around the room in distaste. “It’s so horribly pink in here.” 

Malfoy cracked a smirk. “You never were a normal girl, were you Granger?”

“I hate pink,” she said in disdain.

“Good,” Malfoy said. “I hope the décor irritates you just as much as you are irritating me. Perhaps I’ll have Mimmy change the walls to pink as well.”

“Oh bugger off.” 

Malfoy glared at her for a moment, before returning his eyes to the window. She watched him warily, waiting for him to snap or perhaps grill her with more nonsensical questions, but he seemed more interested in the landscape. The longer she stared at him, the harder it was to focus. It took far too much energy to play this game, especially when she was full and loopy. And the bed was so soft. 

“It’s your own fault you know…” she slurred as she reclined onto her back to rest.

“Pardon me?” he asked.

“I know you’re drugging me…and it’s not working very well, is it? What on earth have you been giving me? It either makes me sleepy or as if I’m flying, and I hate flying!”

When he didn’t reply she found herself irritated, wanting a response. Any response. 

“I mean, honestly, what kind of man kidnaps a woman, holds her hostage, and drowns her in drugged tea so he can ask insipid questions?” she goaded. “Not a man at all, I’d say. You’re still just a pathetic little ferret. A lowly servant, doing what you’re told to save your own life.”

“Not a man, eh?” he said in a flat tone. Hermione’s eyes flew open and she sat up to measure his intentions. There was a flash of anger in his stormy grey eyes and something else. As Malfoy's gaze wandered from her face to her chest, Hermione rushed to cover her breast by folding her arms across her chest. 

“I’m very much a man, Granger,” Malfoy said, his eyes returning to meet hers. “You’d do well to remember that.”

Hermione stiffened, sitting up straighter, suddenly aware of her surroundings as she considered all the ways she could fight him if she had to.

He chuckled. “Would you relax? You always were a stick in the mud.” 

She narrowed her eyes, her frustration with her vulnerability and his head games growing. “Are you trying different potions on me…or is the same one each day?” 

He didn’t reply, but kept his eyes steady on hers. The longer he stared, the more unnerved Hermione became. The relaxing effects of the tea had all but worn off, and she could clear feel panic worming its way into her gut. Why were his eyes roaming? They had never roamed before… they glided over her body invasively moving to her hips and legs? Why was he looking at her in that way? 

He stood up, taking a step towards her and Hermione sat poised, ready for a fight. 

“You said you wouldn’t touch me…you promised,” she said.

Malfoy's upper lip curled up in disgust even as his eyes returned to hers. “Did I? I don’t recall saying anything of the sort.”

“I see, well you’re already a kidnapping murderer, you may as well add rape to your repertoire as well,” she spat.

His grey eyes turned into storm clouds. “How do you know I’ve killed anyone?”

“You’re a Death Eater. Killing is what you do,” she replied simply.

As he approached the bed slowly, Hermione instinctively slid back, waiting for him to lash out at her, whether by physical assault or sexual violation. Instead, Malfoy's eyes drifted from hers to the far corner past her. “You’ve refused to answer any of my questions, you’ve insulted me… so tell me, Granger, if killing is what I do, why are you still alive?”

“Because you haven’t gotten what you wanted?”

“There are other ways to get what I want,” Malfoy said ominously.

“Then do it, and be done with it!” she yelled up at him. 

He stared at her in open shock, and then his upper lip began to curl. “Have you given up on your friends so soon, Granger, that you’re willing to risk death?”

Hermione’s scowl dropped as she thought of Harry and Ron. The memory of their faces was the only constant in her dreams. She looked up at Malfoy to see him contemplating her, no longer sneering. But when he took another step towards the bed, she jumped up and stood on top of it, and then climbed down on the other side to put as much space between them as possible. It didn’t seem to matter though, Malfoy moved quickly around the bed towards her. Hermione was forced to back up until she hit the wall. The thought of kneeing him the groin seemed logical, but as if reading her mind, Malfoy withdrew his wand defensively. 

She wondered how much effort it would take to fight him. 

“Don’t even think about it,” he whispered. 

“What are you playing at?” Hermione said challengingly. “If you really wanted information, you could have just slipped Veristaserum into my tea. Why haven’t you?”

Malfoy leaned in to stare into her eyes, nose to nose. “We ran out of Veristaserum months ago.”

“And how did you manage to do that? Aren’t you skilled at potions?” she taunted.

Malfoy's face grew sombre. “Yes. But these are hard times, and the Veristaserum potion has been overused. Its ingredients are very expensive and rare to come by… then again, I suppose, if I really wanted to, I could afford to make some more…” 

Hermione’s blood run cold as the meaning of his words began to sink in. 

He drew even closer, his eyes boring in to her, the breath of his nostrils heating her face, as his arms trapped her against the wall. 

“Ah… Now she gets it,” he whispered with triumphant eyes.

Hermione tried to remain stoic, despite the weak feeling running through her limbs. 

“Granger, I’m the only thing keeping you alive right now. As soon as I retrieve the information I need, I’ve been ordered to dispose of you. I can take what I want quickly, or take my time, and add weeks to your life.”

Hermione felt resentment and anger rising within her. How dare he throw his control and power in her face. “Don’t do me any favours!” 

Malfoy's hardened stare fell as he shook his head and backed away from her. “You’re incorrigible.” 

Hermione exhaled, a wave of relief washing over her as he put distance between them. “No, I’m tired…are we done for today?”

“Yes,” he said, walking backwards slowly until he reached the chair in the corner, where he took a seat. 

Hermione gaped at him in frustration. “You’re just going to sit here, all night?”

“Until I feel like leaving,” he said, reclining back and withdrawing a paper from his robe pocket. 

Even in her aggravation, Hermione couldn’t quell the spark of hope building at the sight of it. “Is that the Prophet.”

“Yes.”

“May I see it?”

“No,” he said, folding it back up.

She bared her teeth in protest, giving him a scathing glare before falling back onto the bed. Trying to not give him the pleasure of seeing her all worked up over his little show of power, she focused on the ceiling. She closed her eyes, and breathed in and out slowly. The duvet was so soft. It made her think of sleep and pleasant dreams. Dreams that didn’t involve silly questions or mean prats. Dreams where the butterbeer flowed freely, and where the tea wasn’t drugged, and there were plenty of Weasleys, and Harry, and peace.

The sound of Malfoy Disapparating didn’t even register amidst the loud chatter and laughter in the Burrow’s living room.

~~*~~

Staring out the bay window into bright nothingness, Hermione barely heard the house elf Apparate into the room.

“Missus, your tea.” 

“Thank you, Mimmy,” Hermione replied absently, her eyes still fixed on a wide expanse of the sky ahead.

Everyday it was different, tempered by the weather, her mood, and her memories.

Those were all becoming fuzzy now.

She heard another pop and slowly turned around. Mimmy had Disapparated, leaving Hermione her tea and croissant on the small table near the bed. 

As much as she wanted to continue to stare out and daydream of old things or better days to come, Hermione had given up on trying to abstain from the tea. 

She rose to retrieve it, and was just about to take a sip when she paused to inhale the familiar aroma. She frowned. There was no scent of orange or lemon that she had become accustomed to, instead it had a faint hint of honey, perhaps some molasses, and another scent, unfamiliar, more mysterious. 

Intuition told her not to drink, but the voice of her craving was much stronger, so she raised the cup to her lips anyway. 

“A different method of torture then,” she murmured before taking a sip.

~~*~~


	2. Part II- Cravings

Hermione stared back at Malfoy's piercing grey eyes with new fascination. 

His questions were the same, but there was something different about the way he asked them; his voice, his tone, it was deeper, sultrier. She had to blink and look away several times so as not to gaze too deeply. It would be unacceptable for him to mistake her as being smitten.

Yes, he was good looking. She could admit that now. It bore no testament to her loyalty. There were good-looking villains and ugly heroes. Beauty did not discriminate. 

Her eyes drifted from his piercing stare down to his distinguished nose, his well-bred chin, and his delicate pale neck. He had a long elegant neck. She imagined that it would bruise quite easily if kissed too hard or suckled on. 

“Granger, are you listening to me?”

“What? Oh…yes, of course, Malfoy.”

Hermione sighed, looking back at his piercing eyes. They weren’t really grey, more silver actually, and they were gazing so intently it made her wonder — did he think she was attractive too?

“London or Rome?” 

“London, of course. I’ve never been to Rome,” she said. 

He lifted his chin regarding her curiously, making her feel like a bug under a Magnifying Spell.

“What about you?” she said, trying to shift his focus. “Which do you prefer?”

“Rome, I think.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You’ve been?”

Malfoy exhaled in bored exaggeration. “Yes. Several times.”

Hermione perched her head on her hand as she lay on her side of the bed, watching him. 

“Mother would go there often to shop. She’d always insist that I tag along. Expose me to different cultures, that sort of thing,” his eyes drifted from hers, cloudy with memory.

“That sounds pretty exciting, actually,” Hermione heard herself saying before she even realized the words had escaped from her mouth.

There was a slight smile tugging at the corners of Malfoy's mouth and then it was gone. “Yes, I suppose it was. It was…different.” 

“What did you like best about Rome?” 

Malfoy scowled, his eyes narrowing. “I’ll ask the questions, Granger.”

“Right.” 

She watched as he twisted his fingers, his eyes cast to the windows. “There was a villa in the countryside, on the outskirts of the city. A friend of my mother’s lived there. She was…kind and very old. Probably lonely as well. Anytime we came to visit, she’d make a big deal of it. She’d cook a feast, share her best wine, and make my favourite dessert.” 

Hermione leaned in, genuinely curious. “Which is?”

Malfoy gave her a bemused headshake. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t! I’m just making conversation.”

“Since when?” Malfoy smirked.

Hermione pursed her lips, looking away and cursing herself for even trying. 

“Torrone, if you must know,” he said reluctantly.

She snuck a peek at him and found him staring at her with the same intensity as before. 

“Have you ever tried it?” he asked.

“Yes, it’s quite good,” Hermione said, trying to remember when she had tasted it. That memory was not accessible. 

“Yes, it is. It was my mum’s favourite as well. Only she never ordered any of the elves to make it or had it shipped in. She’d only eat it when we’d visit Rome. It was like our little secret.”

As their eyes met, Hermione felt something coil in her belly and her cheeks heating up. 

She swallowed and then forced herself to exhale. “That sounds quite lovely… I mean, it’s a nice memory.” 

Malfoy appeared frozen by her politeness, and then he licked his lips and nodded. “Yes. It is,” he said, standing to leave. 

“Is that it? No more questions?” she asked, startled by the disappointment she heard in her own voice. 

Malfoy paused, a small smile surfacing. “I have plenty more, if you’re up for it.”

~~*~~

Dusk always offered the best view. Hermione loved the way the sun bled into the earth, blurring distinction between day and night. How long she had been at the window, she wasn’t sure. Time was a strange thing these days. Her eyes drifted to the ground below, so far down. At least a hundred feet or more. She’d imagined herself jumping many times, but couldn’t work up the nerve. She was not so brave after all it seemed. Or smart. Smart people who served in important positions for the new Order didn’t get themselves kidnapped. Now she couldn’t even really remember exactly what she had done, but she knew it was important. If she wasn’t brave enough to endure torture or kill herself, nor smart enough to avoid capture, what good was she?

Perhaps that was why they hadn’t found her yet. They’d probably stopped looking. 

She could imagine them writing her off as another casualty of war. How long they would mourn her, and who would cry at her memorial? The thought of Harry crying over her made her sick with guilt and sadness. So she thought of Ron. That made her feel a little better. It was horrible thing to feel, but brought the picture of him weeping over her brought her the slightest bit of satisfaction, at least for a short while. She knew eventually, they’d all move on. 

The knowledge of the inevitable grew everyday as her dreams and memories of home, Grimmauld, the Burrow, and Shell Cottage, became fuzzier. It was no longer easy to distinguish who she remembered doing what with and where they had been when it had occurred. But she still had their faces, they were clear as day, and that gave her some measure of hope. 

As the sun set, and the moon rose, Hermione’s craving grew. The hours between lunch and dinner seemed to stretch out longer now. Her mouth was parched, but not for water, or food. She turned from the window, hating the need gripping her. 

And then Malfoy appeared, with the tea. Hermione quickly took it from him, ignoring him as him as took his usual seat in the corner. 

“You’re late, you usually come by much earlier,” she commented after taking a prolonged sip, savouring the taste.

His face flushed as he sputtered out his reply. “Yes, well, I’ve been busy. And _he_ wanted me to check in on you before I retired for the evening.”

“Oh?”

She titled her head, studying him. “I still don’t understand how your questions can be of any use to him?”

“That is none of your concern,” he said sharply. “I’m not in the mood for your sass right now.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Well pardon me, Your Royal Pain in the Arse.”

Malfoy's mouth caved into a tight snarl as he stood to make long strides to stand next to Hermione. She drew back in surprise. 

“Test me, Granger, just test me. I dare you,” he challenged in a dangerous tone. Taking note of his flushed pallor, the light sheen of perspiration on his brow that was beginning to wet his hair, Hermione felt a tiny tug of sympathy for him. He looked extremely stressed.

The thought of hugging him crossed her mind and she quickly scolded herself and the damned tea. Still, everything about his demeanor and presence told her that her taunting jabs would be most unwelcome and received more poorly than usual. 

“You look a fright. What’s the matter?” she asked softly.

He looked ready to pounce on her for an anticipated insult and then his eyes faltered as if he had finally heard what she really said. 

“I’m fine,” he said curtly. “It’s just been a very trying day and it may not be over.”

“But you just said that you’d soon be retiring for the evening.”

“The Dark Lord never sleeps, Granger. What we consider day and night is inconsequential to him. He’s always working, which means, I’m always working.”

“And what do you do for him, exactly?” she asked in gentlest way she could. 

Malfoy's eyes assessed her as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. He shrugged. “Whatever he requests. He’s very temperamental and changes his mind a lot.” 

“I see.”

She watched as his face tightened again. He cast his gaze to the window as if trying to gain some sense of composure.

Watching him trying to rein in whatever stress was vexing him was strangely discomforting. As odd as it felt, Hermione wanted to see his former cold detached demeanor return. Stability and consistency were her only allies now. 

“What questions do you have for me today?” she asked, taking a seat on the edge of the bed, giving him her best eager student poise. 

Malfoy huffed, finally drawing his eyes away from the window to look at her. He withdrew his hands from his pockets and took a seat in his corner chair.

“Tell me something funny.”

“What?”

“Make me laugh.”

Hermione wrinkled her forehead. “But—”

“It doesn’t have to be brilliant. You can tell me your most embarrassing memory or a stupid Muggle joke. It doesn’t matter.”

Hermione searched her memory for embarrassing moments, but none of them were acceptable for sharing with him, of all people. A joke would have to do. She smiled as she recalled a joke George had told her only a few months before…

“Have you heard the one about Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson on a camping trip?”

~~*~~

_“Ron what are you doing?”_

_“Shhh, everyone is asleep, just go with it, alright?”_

_“Oh, Ron…”_

_“Do you like that?”_

_“Yes…yes, but, we can’t, not here…”_

_“Why not?”_

_“Because it’s not appropriate. What if someone hears us?”_

_“That’s why you have to be quiet. Come on, Hermione, please…I need you right now.”_

_“Oh alright…but we have to be very quiet.”_

_“Do you want me to cover your mouth?”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“This is what I mean,” Ron said pressing his hand over her mouth._

_Hermione writhed against the finger working itself inside of her and the pressure against her mouth. She’d never felt so turned on, so reckless, so free._

_Moaning against Ron’s palm with her eyes firmly shut, her hips invited him to go deeper._

_And he did._

_She opened her eyes, to see his enraptured face, but the eyes staring down at her weren’t sky blue, they were grey, almost silver, and they sparkled like diamonds._

 

“Ron?” she gasped, awaking to the sound of her own heavy breathing and racing heart. There was wetness down there. She didn’t have to touch herself to know it. 

More than the wetness, she had a strong need and desire to be filled. Her distress from the dream did nothing to abate it. For the first time since she’d been kidnapped, Hermione thought about getting off. 

One hand rested on her left breast, while the other slid down under the duvet to soothe the ache between her legs. 

She shut her eyes against the tears forming in them as she tried to remember Ron’s face. It was blurry, the copper of his hair bore unusual white blond highlights and his blue eyes were unusually pale, almost grey, and there were no freckles, just smooth pale skin, cool to the touch.

~~*~~

When Malfoy returned the next day, she was facing the window, thinking of Ron, Harry, and what her time in this place was doing to her mind, her memories and dreams.

He took a seat in the corner, and said nothing for a long time. 

“Have you heard anything about them?” she asked, keeping her eyes on the fields below. 

“Not really,” he replied. “I know they’re still alive and we’re still looking for them.” 

“Of course,” she said. 

She could feel his eyes on her, but she dared not look at him. The tea was already making her head feel light and there was a small bulb of warmness between her thighs. 

“What are you putting in my tea now?”

“It’s a simple potion. But better than the one before. This one won’t make you so lethargic.” 

“It tastes funny, and it’s making me… feel things I don’t want to feel,” she said, trying to will away the blush creeping onto her face. 

“Well it’s not a love potion. It won’t make you feel anything you don’t already have inside of you,” Malfoy said softly.

She wanted so badly to turn and see his expression. Was there hope in his eyes or smugness?

“And how does it assist you?” she asked, trying to stay on the subject.

Malfoy looked at her suspiciously. “I’m not at liberty to say.” 

A spark of anger flared, making Hermione forget her induced longing to be touched. Finally, she turned her eyes to give him an accusatory glare. “And is _he_ pleased with your interrogation about my last summer vacation or my favorite foods?”

Malfoy's upper lip curled slightly. “Actually, he suggested that I be much sterner with you. He encouraged me to use force.”

“Is that right?” she said with a challenge.

“Yes. He thinks I’m treating you too much like a princess, instead of a prisoner. Perhaps he’s right.” 

Hermione waited for whatever he was going to say or do next. 

“Granger, things are going to change around here, very soon,” he said, sliding his hands over the front of his trousers like one would do with sweaty palms. 

Hermione took it all in, his gestures, the grave tone he was using, the seriousness of his expression, and felt a tightening in her belly not unlike the first time she had been captured.

She held her breath. This was it. The moment she’d been waiting for. He was either going to inflict harm on her, or deliver her to those who would. 

“So when will the torture begin?” she asked bravely.

Malfoy gave her a puzzled look and then chuckled. “Torture? Ah, no. Relax, Granger. As long as you follow my instructions, you won’t have to worry about… torture,” he said darkly. 

“I don’t understand. What will you have me do? What will change?”

His eyes dropped, from her face to her chest. The focus of his stare burning her skin, she shifted on the bed uncomfortably.

“Just do as I say, and you’ll be fine,” he said, licking his lips. 

Hermione looked to the left wall, towards the fake door, suddenly curious whether there was another room or people just beyond it. 

“Can the others hear us?”

“Potentially. The walls are thick, but sound does penetrate them. So far, they have not heard anything, and that is what concerns them.” 

“And who are they, exactly?” she prodded.

Malfoy’s face turned to stone. “You don’t need to know,” he replied curtly. 

He stood and walked over to the bed to stand before her. From her sitting position, he looked incredibly tall, a formidable opponent, but that didn’t stop the familiar thought of how exactly she could wrestle his wand away, from whispering to her.

But then Malfoy did something unexpected. He reached down and touched her cheek. She flinched as everything inside of her screamed for her to back away. But there was an unusual current of comfort running from his hand into her skin. She hadn’t been touched by anyone or anything in over a month, and his hand was just as gentle, soft, and cool as she had imagined it to be.

He was looking down at her strangely, almost like a lover would, and then the moment was gone. He withdrew his hand and reached into his robe pocket to bring out another book. 

“Here, thought you might enjoy this,” he said.

She stared at it suspiciously as she slowly accepted it. 

“Wuthering Heights?” She flipped it over to survey the binding when the loud pop signaling his exit made her stand and wonder just what he was up to.

~~*~~

Malfoy didn’t visit her the next day or the day after and Hermione felt a new emptiness she hadn’t anticipated. She missed him. Not him exactly. His questions. They helped her remember things she thought she had forgotten. The conversation that often ensued wasn’t half bad either. Malfoy was actually quite a conversationalist, and rather intelligent. She began to wonder why he felt the need to be an arsehole and support a monster. It was hard reconciling this new knowledge of him with her hate. These were things she was pondering when he Apparated into her presence four days later.

She jumped up to greet him, and then felt foolish for doing so. What prisoner showed enthusiasm to see their captor? So hastened to cover her mistake and gave her best imitation of disdain. Scowling, she folded her arms over her chest, as if waiting for his questions.

But Malfoy's eyes were different today; determined, focused, and his mouth was drawn into a tight line as he advanced on her. 

Backing up several paces, Hermione held her arms out to keep him away. 

“Don’t even bother, Granger,” he said, grabbing her wrists so hard it made her wince. 

“You’re hurting me,” she sputtered.

“Excellent…scream.”

“What?” she asked in alarm.

“Scream for me,” he whispered fiercely.

His eyes were cold, his face hard. There was no mercy there, and his grip on her neck frightened her. Malfoy's insistence was not necessary, when she screamed it was out of pure fear. 

Before she could think further on it, he dropped one hand to grab her throat. She gasped, clawing at his arm defensively. 

“Good. Yes, just like that…struggle.” 

“What are you doing?” she asked in bewilderment.

“Louder, Granger, really give me a fight,” he ordered.

“You want a fight, you loathsome, Ferret? I’ll give you a fight,” she snarled as her claws dug into his wrists and she gave him a good kick to the knees.

“Oww!” Malfoy said, letting go of her. 

Hermione gasped for breath, holding her neck while keeping an eye on him as he bowled over in front of her wincing. 

“You don’t have to fight me that hard!” he said harshly.

“Have you gone mad? You just tried to choke me!”

Malfoy straightened up, his breath coming in heavier than it should. His face was red and he seemed embarrassed.

“What’s the matter with you?” she demanded.

“I just wanted to do a test run of it," he said, trying to sound confident. But Hermione wasn't fooled. "You’re quite spirited. Next time though, more yelling, and a little less fight.”

~~*~~

When the screaming routine began Hermione had been both terribly frightened and relieved that the beginning of the end was near. But she had been wrong. It was just a beginning.

Malfoy would come in, and he would give her a look. His eyes would be intense and meaningful, and she’d know that was her cue. She tried out different screams. Long, short, high, desperate, frightened, and angry. She wasn’t frightened anymore. It was like a game now. When she would get too melodramatic or silly, testing the boundaries of how high and terrified she could sound, he would give her a physical reminder that while this was a game, there were real stakes involved.

Sometimes questions would follow, other times he’d sulk over to the chair in the corner and look out the window in silence, for ten, sometimes twenty minutes. 

“Do they really believe you’re hurting me?” she asked him one day.

“Yes.”

Hermione frowned. “What exactly do they think you’re doing to me?”

Malfoy leveled a meaningful stare at her and she felt her breath catch in her throat. 

“That’s vile,” she said in disdain.

“That’s real. You’re lucky, Granger. You really don’t know how lucky you are. You might want to start showing a little more appreciation, or everything they think I’m doing to you, will be done to you…by them.”

Hermione gave him a disgusted look. “If you expect me to just bow down and kiss your over-priviledged toes for sparing me from their tortures, you’re sorely mistaken, Malfoy. You stole my life from me!”

Malfoy sighed, his eyes sad as he reclined back in the chair. “I know.”

~~*~~

“Be honest, were you scared when you first got your letter?”

“No, I was excited,” Hermione insisted. “Weren’t you?”

“Yes, but I had been expecting it. You can’t tell me you were expecting a letter from a wizarding school.”

Hermione paused, thinking back on it. “No, you’re right, I wasn’t expecting it, but I was relieved when it arrived. My parents and I had long thought I was witch, but getting that letter was confirmation. Have you ever had the feeling that you knew something but it didn’t feel quite real until someone else confirmed it?”

Malfoy’s eyes were heavy as he stared back at her and nodded. “Yes. I know that feeling very well.”

She felt trapped in his gaze, and it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. His eyes hypnotized her, and when they were focused on her like this, her stomach fluttered in odd ways. Their stare stretched out for several moments, too long, forcing Hermione to glance away in embarrassment.

“This is the longest you’ve ever stayed. Most of the day has passed,” she said.

“It has.” 

“I suppose you’ll need to be getting back soon, then?”

Draco turned to regard the wall behind her as if there was a clock there. 

“No…there’s no rush,” he said, standing up to walk over towards the bed where she was sitting.

Looking up at him from her position, she had a new appreciation for his height and size. It didn’t hurt that the stream of light coming in from the window reflected in his eyes.

As odd as it felt, Hermione could feel herself smiling, and for the first time, she didn’t think it had anything to do with the tea.

~~*~~

“How can you honestly sit there and claim Snape was fair?” she demanded bitterly. “He treated me horribly. He never called on me, and he also took unnecessary points from me as well. He hated me.”

Malfoy scoffed. “Snape did not hate you, Granger. He just didn’t bowl over to your brown-nosing routine.”

Hermione gasped, throwing a pillow at Malfoy's face. “I never brown-nosed! You on the other hand…”

“I beg your pardon! _I_ never brown-nosed! And I’m not the one who always had my hand stuck in the air!”

“I can’t help it if I was always prepared,” she said defensively.

Malfoy smirked and shook his head. “Well it didn’t impress Snape much, did it?” 

Hermione rolled her eyes, but then a strange melancholy washed over her as she thought of the man they’d been discussing. Her eyes fell to the plush coral coloured carpet and the memory of fresh blood and the gasping last breaths of the man she had once loathed and feared appeared before her just as vividly as the day they had occurred. 

She heard a small sniffle, and glanced up to see Malfoy with his head bowed and in his hands. No words came to mind as she tried to discern whether he was crying under the veil of his hair and fingers. It was strange to see him in such a vulnerable state and even stranger to be able to empathize with what he was feeling. 

After several moments, he seemed to remember her presence. He sat up to smooth his hands over his cheeks and hair as if discarding one mask for another. 

She glanced away, giving him more time to collect himself. “For what it’s worth,” she said. “I miss him too, even if he wasn’t very nice to me…”

“He was foolish,” Malfoy said quickly, looking out the window.

“No, he was a hero.”

“Some hero. He died for nothing,” Malfoy said bitterly. 

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” she asked, searching his face. How could he discount everything Snape had done?

Malfoy turned his eyes sharply, his mouth pinched in aggravation. “It doesn’t matter what I believe. All that matters is what is.The Dark Lord has denounced him as a traitor and a fool, and so he is. That’s all anyone will remember about Snape.” 

“Draco… he cared about you.”

The utterance of his first name was like breaking taboo and they both froze to hear it. His eyes went wide momentarily and then returned to their former coolness. He looked down to search his robe pocket. 

“I almost forgot. I brought another book for you,” he said, standing up to pull it out.

“Oh?” As she reached out to accept it, her eyes probed his, looking for some of the sadness and grief she thought she had just shared with him.

But all trace of it was gone. 

“The Story of O?”

“It’s an autographed first edition translated in English. It’s very rare,” he said proudly, pointing to it.

“Oh my. This must have been very expensive,” she said, touching the leather-bound cover delicately. 

“I have two copies in my library,” he boasted. 

“I see, Well, thank you. This is actually one book I haven’t read yet.”

“You’re welcome. I hope you enjoy it."

She gave him a small smile.

He swallowed visibly and then rushed to speak. "I believe we’re done for today. I’ll send dinner and tea along,” he said, pulling out his wand in preparation for Disapparation.

“Good night, Draco,” she said quickly, before he could disappear.

He paused, holding the wand in mid-air as he stared down at her with the tiniest smile on his face. “Good night, Hermione.”

~~*~~

_“You don’t think it’s a bit strange, Hermione?”_

_“Shhh, Ron. Please keep your voice down. No, I don’t. It isn’t any different than when we shared a tent in the Forest of Dean.”_

_“That was different and you know it. We’re not in the woods anymore. We have a nice place here, and there’s more than enough room for everyone. I don’t understand why he always has to crawl in bed with us.”_

_“After everything that’s happened and losing Ginny... Ron, he needs us. And I don’t think it’s a good idea to push him away, not now.”_

_“Oh alright, then,” Ron said irritably, glancing over at their best friend cuddled against her back._

_As Hermione watched Ron settle and close his eyes, she looked back to check on Harry._

_But the boy behind her, snuggled close with his arm around her waist was slightly thinner, and he didn’t have messy black hair. Instead, his white blond hair lay almost perfectly, with only a few stray hairs out of place. As if sensing her stare, Draco opened his eyes. They shone, even in the dark, like diamonds. When she opened her mouth to ask where Harry was, he pressed one long finger to her lips._

_“Don’t worry about Potter, or the other one. I’m here, and I’m all you need.”_

 

Hermione tossed and turned until she awoke tangled within the sheets. It was dark now, and there was a faint stream of moonlight spilling in through the window. She could make out the outline of Draco’s body slumped over in the chair near the wall. He had fallen asleep there so many nights now that it seemed ludicrous that he didn’t just join her in the bed. 

But she dared not pose the question about why he chose the chair, nor could she ever imagine inviting him into her bed to sleep with her. 

The betrayal and shame she felt from the simple desire of wanting him in her bed was enough. She could very well go mad if it were to actually happen. 

Hermione heard a whisper from the darkened corner where she’d been staring.

“Is everything alright?”

She swallowed. “Yes, I just woke up.”

“Bad dream?” Draco asked.

“No, just strange,” she said.

“Tell me about it.”

“Draco, please, not now. I want to get back to sleep,” she begged off, hoping he wasn’t going to press for more.

He made an unmistakable sound of frustration, and then adjusted himself in his seat. 

“Do you think if I joined you, you’d sleep better?” he asked tentatively.

“No!” she exclaimed, surprised at the vehement protest in her voice.

“Very well then,” he said with what sounded like regret. “Good night.”

“Good night,” she said quickly, lying back down. She kept her eyes open and on him for a long time, unsure of what scared her most: the fact that he offered to sleep beside her or that she wanted him to.

~~*~~

His hand around her throat felt oddly comforting right now. Perhaps it was because it never really threatened to choke her, only press her to the edge, where the air leaves the lungs, depriving the brain of just enough oxygen to sink into the strange in-between, where consciousness bleeds into nothingness. Draco’s eyes always seemed to brighten in those moments. It usually took place up against the wall, but today, he had arrived while she was still asleep.

She awoke, startled when he reached down to grasp her throat, pushing her deeper into the mattress. As expected, Hermione fought him, grabbing at his arm in a valiant show of resistance. She never clawed too hard, though. Truly hurting him seemed wrong now, and she didn’t want to scar his smooth and perfect skin. When Draco climbed onto the bed to hover over her, she froze. They shared a moment of awareness; the game was changing.

Draco’s next movements were slow and gentle but with the deliberate confidence of a man who had thought through what he was about to do. With one knee planted firmly on the bed, he mounted her, swinging the other leg around to straddle her. She remained still, staring up at him as the hand around her neck squeezed, loosened and then squeezed again.

And then she felt it, something hard with considerable length pressing against her. Her grip on his forearm tightened around his arm, as he began to move, pressing it into her. A reluctant gasp escaped her. 

“That’s not a scream,” he whispered.

“You- you want me to scream…now?” 

“Yes,” he said, pressing his erection against her center. “Just like we always do.” 

Hermione stared back at him, taking in his rapid breathing and flushed face. He was aroused by the idea of hearing her scream in this position, and seeing him this excited was strangely arousing to her. 

She released her best scream, letting it scream rip through her lungs like it was her last. The erection pressing into her grew harder still and Draco began to push and grind as if he were really buried inside of her. 

“Louder,” he said, his breath coming in heavy pants.

Hermione screamed again, and threw in a sob for added affect. He groaned and closed his eyes as she began to pound her tiny fists against his chest and thrash against him. 

“Oh, yes…yes, Hermione, fight me.” 

And she did, not as hard as she could have, but just enough to give him a challenge. His body seemed to enjoy every push, punch, and scratch. 

It was cathartic, the adrenaline rush and satisfaction of being able to fight, to struggle against him, against what he stood for, helped ease the guilt of wanting him.

When he began to rock against her steadily, pressing her by hand and hip into the bed, Hermione closed her eyes, hoping he would go just a bit further, but his rocking became erratic and so did her writhing. Something was building inside of her, like a crescendo, and then it peaked, pulling another scream from her lips. Within seconds he groaned, releasing her neck and rolling over onto his side. 

Hermione held herself still, her body shaking from the unexpected force of her orgasm and from the heavy weight of guilt and shame. 

“I love the way you fight me. You’re so strong…”

“You’re sick,” she whispered.

He rolled over to raise himself on his hand and look at her plainly. “If I were truly sick, we wouldn’t be pretending.”

She could feel tears building in her eyes, and suddenly she needed to be alone. 

“Please leave.”

Draco looked confused. “Why? You like it, too. I can see it in your eyes. It’s fun.”

She sat up, glaring down at him with all of the hate she could muster. “No, it’s not! You’re drugging me. You’re making me feel things I don’t want to feel!”

Draco’s eyes hardened. “I already explained this to you, Hermione, it doesn’t work like that.”

“You’re lying. I know you are. Get out, you perverted sick bastard! And take every book you’ve ever given me, and your bloody tea with you. I won’t ever drink it again!”

Draco rose quickly, straightening his clothing and moving to the corner chair to retrieve his robe. 

“And tell your Master, I’m ready to see him. I’m not a doll for you to play with, Draco. I won’t be answering any more of your stupid questions!”

Draco opened his mouth and then bit something back, scowling; he waved his wand, and then he was gone.

~~*~~

When Mimmy popped in the following morning, Hermione was curt with the elf, telling her to go away and to take the tea with her.

But Mimmy paid Hermione no mind and set it on the nightstand anyway. 

Hermione glared at the temptation. Although she had come to love the carpet because it reminded her of her parents’ home, she reasoned that her sanity was much more important, and reached over to knock the tea onto the floor.

As the day wore on, she tried to focus on the window, and the fields below, but her eyes kept wandering over to the nightstand as if the teacup would magically reappear. 

Finally, when it was evident she was not making any progress in reading, she forced herself to take a shower. The water stream was soft and steady, and she opened her mouth to drink from it, hoping the refreshing water would soothe her thirst for the poison. 

But it didn’t. 

Brushing her hair proved difficult, because her hands were shaking, so she gave up on trying. Each minute seemed to stretch out longer than the last, and by the time Mimmy arrived with lunch and more tea, Hermione was beside herself with agony. 

She stared down at the teacup a long time and it took every bit of inner strength she had to throw it against the wall. It did nothing to ease her suffering as she watched as its contents ran down the wall in great sticky lines. She could almost imagine sticking her tongue out to catch it before it hit the floor. 

 

_“Harry! Ron! What on earth do you two think you’re doing?” she scolded, taking in the smattering of pumpkin juice, eggs, and smashed croissants strewn all over the floor and on the wall behind them._

_They both looked up from their messy entangled embrace, red-faced and stunned._

_“You two are so childish! Look at this mess!” Hermione said, walking closer to inspect the damage._

_She felt herself falling as her foot lost its traction along the slime on the floor, and she fell on her bum, right beside them._

_They laughed and she scowled harder, which only made them laugh more._

_“It’s not funny, look at yourselves, and the walls! Molly is not going to be happy.”_

_Ron sniggered, flicking sticky Pumpkin juice off of his fingers and into her face._

_“Ron!”_

_“Oh relax, Hermione, have a little fun, will you?” drawled a familiar voice. When she wiped the juice out of her eyes, Ron was no longer there. Pale blond hair tainted with orange Pumpkin juice and crystal grey eyes stared back at her. Harry was still laughing and Draco was right there atop of him, picking up pieces of croissants to throw at both of them._

_“Draco! What are you doing here?”_

_Draco paused, his expression dumbfounded. “Have you gone mad, Hermione? I’m always here…”_

 

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” Draco asked, startling Hermione out of her daydream, still in the same position she was before it started - on the edge of the bed, watching the tea dry on the wall.

She could smell the fragrance of something burning, like a lavender and vanilla scented candle. 

“I thought you’d like them,” he whispered, bringing one near her face, warming her cheek. As he walked over to place the candle on the windowsill, she looked up at him. 

“I can’t,” she whispered. “I won’t allow it to go on any longer. I’d rather you torture me than subject me to this.”

“Hermione,” he said, taking a seat beside her. “Have you ever seen or experienced real torture? What Bellatrix did to you years ago was nothing compared to what they are doing to prisoners now.” 

She held herself, feeling the need for the tea gripping her. It had to be close to noon and if felt as if the craving was wreaking havoc on her entire body. 

“I hate that tea,” she said spitefully. 

“Yet, you drink it, every day.”

“It’s addictive and you know it!”

“I know it makes you happy. What’s wrong with that?”

“Why are you playing these mind games, Draco? Why are you asking me meaningless questions? I know he doesn’t care. Just kill me,” she pleaded.

“You don’t mean that,” Draco sighed. “I know you don’t. Tell you what, you no longer have to drink the tea. Instead...” 

Draco put his right hand into his left hand, and began to play with the emerald encased ring on his ring finger. Hermione stared at it in fascination. She'd never seen him wear it before. It was beautiful, and rather large. Larger than any emerald she had ever seen set in a ring. 

“You can take your medicine by hand.”

She shook her head firmly, avoiding his eyes.

But as much as she tried to avert her eyes, she could not turn them away as he flipped back the emerald to reveal a hollow center. 

“A poison ring?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yes. And inside, just poison you’ve been craving.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” she asked quietly.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you…”

She forced herself to look at him. His eyes were apprehensive but honest, too honest. He looked ready to confess something and although she was curious, she was also in no mood to hear anything soul bearing or terrifying. Reality was already stressful enough. 

She watched as he dipped his left pinky into the center of the ring and then lifted it up to her mouth. There was no visible substance there. “Just one drop. Taste it.” 

She shook her head. “I prefer the tea.”

“That’s not an option,” Draco said. “At least, not today.” 

His eyes focused on hers again. The forbidden attraction enticed her. It had already made a home in her heart, but without the potion it was more painful to acknowledge. Being attracted to Draco felt wrong. But the potion made everything alright, under its influence all of her desires and feelings felt natural, and all of her worries and fears were forgotten.

In the back of her mind, she could hear a strong determined voice telling her to resist the temptation, to resist Draco and his potion. It was the same voice that told her she needed to fight him, and try to wrestle away his wand. And for one brief moment, the thought of biting him crossed Hermione’s mind, but then another voice reasoned that such a rash move would only bring certain death, or even worse tortures.

Resigned, Hermione ignored the strong voice pleading for her to not give in, and instead, she gave into her craving. She opened her mouth a little and closed her eyes. One long, single digit slipped past her lips and over her tongue. Holding her mouth completely still for a moment, the sweetness began to tickle her taste buds. She gave Draco’s finger suction to taste more of it, and her greedy tongue slid and twirled, seeking every bit of the drug lacing his finger.

“Mmm, Hermione, you have a wonderful mouth,” Draco said as he began to obscenely slide his finger and out of her mouth as if it were his cock. 

Perhaps one day it would be; she could almost imagine wrapping her lips around it.

As her head became light, and a warmth grew in her belly, Hermione opened her eyes to gaze into Draco’s. She immediately felt foolish. Why would she ever be afraid of a man with diamonds for eyes? And that angelic face… he was a beautiful, complex creature. Who was she to judge him? She had made many messes of her own life, including getting caught out in the open. That was why she was here, because she had made a mistake. 

And really, he was right, there were far worse tortures than this, and his fingers tasted wonderful.


	3. Part III: Gluttony

Hermione gawked at the sleeping man beside her. She couldn’t remember how Draco had wound up in her bed. In fact, Hermione could hardly remember anything after licking his fingers clean. Worse still, they were both completely naked. When Draco finally cracked his eyes open and caught her watching him, she blushed in embarrassment. 

“Don’t be ashamed… I know you’re attracted to me, Hermione,” he said. 

She shook her head in denial. “I’m not…and how did we end up...like this?”

“You don’t remember?” he asked in amusement.

“Of course not, you drugged me!”

“You can’t blame it all on the potion,” Draco said, sliding closer. “It may alter your mood, but your body doesn’t lie.” He smirked, his hand reaching out to find her under the covers. 

Hermione tried to remain stiff and unaffected, but then his fingers slipped into her wetness, proving her a liar.

“See…”

The last remains of her dignity rose up like a phoenix from the ashes. Her hand shot out, pushing against his arm, trying to draw him out. 

Draco chuckled deep in his throat, moving even closer, his hard cock brushing her thigh. She could feel its head, wet with pre-cum, and its steel hardness demanded attention.

“Oh yes…do your best to try and escape me. Fight, Hermione.”

She pushed her hand into his face, covering it and Draco snarled, gnashing his teeth against her palm. She instinctively pulled back her hand to protect it and that’s when he rolled over on top of her, his hands struggling to restrain her. 

Hermione used her whole body, her legs, her torso and her arms to fight but it only seemed to make him stronger. His eyes were dancing now; she didn’t think she’d ever seen them shine so brightly. 

“You forgot to scream. And do it loudly, so that they can hear you,” he breathed as he gained control over her wrists with both hands. He moved quickly to shift her wrists to one hand, while the other found her wet centre. 

Without any warning, two fingers invaded her, sinking into her effortlessly. It was hard not to move against them as he pumped them inside of her. But he soon withdrew them, bringing them to her face to smear her arousal across her lips. 

Forgetting herself, Hermione’s tongue darted out to taste herself and as soon as she did, Draco’s mouth covered hers. His tongue and lips were possessive, claiming everything, even her muffled cries. And then the head of his cock was pressing against her entrance. 

She stopped her writhing and moaning as memory flooded her head.

Instead of Draco’s silver eyes, she was looking up into baby blues, set in a face sprinkled by freckles and framed with a head full of copper hair.

“Ron? Ron!”

She began to beat at him and shake him, trying to make him disappear, but he was still there, looking at her in growing horror. 

“What are you doing, Hermione?” Ron asked.

“I don’t know! I’m sorry, Ron. I’m sorry!”

“Hermione, stop…stop. Calm down. It’s me!” Draco yelled at her. 

The copper hair began to lighten, the round features sharpened, the blue eyes paled to grey. They were wide and frightened. 

“It’s alright…just calm down. It’s just me,” he said caressing her cheek. 

She nodded, still shaking from the vision. His body on top of hers suddenly felt too slight, and his now half-erect penis felt dirty against her. 

What would Ron think of her now? She’d become a whore to a Death Eater. She couldn’t even look at him. She turned her face to the side as shameful tears began to slide down her face. 

“Please leave.”

“No, I’m not leaving you like this. Tell me what I have to do to make this better,” Draco pressed.

“You can’t. Please…”

He gently caressed her upturned cheek with the back of his hand, and shifted settling more comfortably between her legs to rest there. 

“I want to make love to you,” he said.

“You don’t know what love is,” she said, trying her best to avoid his eyes.

“Yes I do,” he whispered, pressing his lips to her cheek. “Let me show you.” 

“This isn’t love, Draco. You just want to have sex with me.” 

“I want to be inside of you. I want to feel you all around me, and you want that too…I know it.”

“I can’t even look at you.”

“That’s alright,” Draco said, with excitement. She could hear hope creeping into his voice. “You don’t have to look at me…”

Hermione didn’t reply or move, but Draco rose and left the bed, and when he came back, he straddled her once more. She felt the tickle of soft silk stroking her torso, moving over her belly and up between her breasts. He brushed it across her nipples and then against her neck. 

He took her turned chin in his fingers and pushed her head back to face him. His eyes were gleaming again. “I’m going to blindfold you, and then you can pretend I’m anyone you like. How’s that sound?”

She couldn’t respond, and he took it as permission. He stretched out the long, pink satin belt of her night robes and covered her eyes, lifting her head to tie it securely. 

It blocked out everything very well, so well she could almost pretend it wasn’t him. His fingers were in her mouth again, and this time, they were just as sweet as they were the night before. She licked at them greedily, enjoying the familiar taste. 

Her head began to feel lighter and there was warmth spreading through her belly and into her privates. As Draco’s mouth sucked her left nipple, she tried to conjure up the image of Ron doing it, but only Draco’s eager mouth filled the vision in her mind. When his lips moved down her belly to taste her, exploring and lapping at her with his tongue, she grabbed onto his head. His hair was so soft and fine, she just knew it couldn’t be anything other than Draco’s. 

And when he stopped to climb up on top of her once more to position himself to take her, she tried one last time to remember the boy she had once loved and swore she’d marry, but all she could see was Draco’s face. 

“Take it off,” she pleaded. 

“What?” 

“Take it off! I want to see your eyes!”

The silk bind was lifted, and her eyes immediately found Draco’s eyes. His face was glowing, whether it from victory or joy, she couldn’t tell. But regardless of the reason, it was lovely to behold. 

She let her legs fall open, inviting him to take whatever he wanted. Draco licked his lips and slid up to take the plunge, holding himself up with his arms on either side of her as he slowly pushed forward. 

Her mouth fell open as he slid inside, his cock was just right, the missing piece, the perfect appendage to fill the void that throbbed at her center. 

She squirmed underneath him, urging him to bury himself completely inside. And he did, again and again, and it was enough to forget about not caring, and not being able to remember Ron’s face. Right now, everything Hermione was, mind and body, belonged to Draco. She pushed away the guilt, reasoning that belonging to him was alright, for a just a little while.

~~*~~

“Open wide,” Draco said, tapping his finger against her bottom lip, demanding entry.

Without any hesitation she did as she was instructed. 

“Good girl,” Draco said, feeding her daily regimen.

It mostly occurred at night now, after their conversations. She still took her tea with her breakfast and lunch, but in the evenings, after a long conversation with Draco, she’d take it from his hand. Afterwards, their play at torture and choking would commence. Sometimes it’d start with a light caress of the cheek and slowly progress to choking, other times he’d grab her throat immediately, goading her to fight.

She twisted her hips, trying to feel more and his fingers pressed deeper against the flesh of her throat.

“Oh no, please don’t!” she shouted.

“Louder, they can’t hear that,” Draco panted against her ear, his hand tightening and relaxing, as he began to pound her with punctuated thrusts.

“Stop it, you evil disgusting ferret!” she cried, her legs wrapped around his waist, holding him tight even as she thrashed again him.

Draco closed his eyes and his hand tightened, making Hermione gasp and choke for air. “Oh yes, call me a ferret again. Tell me how much you hate me, you filthy little Mudblood.”

His grip went slack once more so she could comply, and Hermione snarled, happy to express the outrage and resentment she should have been feeling towards him, his manipulation of her mind and body, and his careless use of the hated epithet. But the only thing she felt was self-loathing for feeling none of those things, for enjoying what he was doing to her, and wanting more. 

“I hate you, Draco Malfoy, you despicable ferret! I hate you!”

Draco’s eyes appeared to roll into the back of his head as he drove into her harder and faster. It was as if a demon was possessing him, and she was his next waiting vessel. Hermione stopped fighting him and began to cling to him, wrapping her arms around him, and grabbing onto his sweaty back. 

“Oh, oh Draco... Draco…yes, yessss,” she crooned, enjoying the slapping sounds his hips made against hers. 

He looked down, his crystal grey eyes now stormy and dark, and she stared up at his slick, pale chiseled body.

“Don’t stop screaming, darling. I want them to think I’m breaking you.”

“You already have,” she moaned shamelessly, pushing back against him before letting out another anguished scream.

Somewhere, in the back of Hermione’s mind, she could almost hear the insistent protest of a proud stoic woman, a woman too strong and determined to become complicit in her own debasement. But that voice was no match for the screams Draco demanded, or the moans of pleasure he drew from her body. That strong proud voice was now, merely a whisper.

~~*~~

Whenever Hermione awoke now, the last thing she remembered was dreaming of Draco. He’d awake with her, and they’d have tea and crumpets or croissants. After tea, her feelings for him were always more intense, and she’d show no inhibition in jumping onto his lap and riding his cock until they both were spent.

Sometimes she’d break down crying for enjoying it so much, but mostly, she slept away her guilt, with him beside her. When she’d awake they would talk, have dinner, and then begin the choking and torture routine once more. 

Weeks passed and she became used to Draco sleeping in her bed, day after day. Having him there all the time, seemed so natural, she hardly wondered whether he was supposed to be there, and she didn’t care that he no longer asked her questions.

The outside world no longer held any meaning. The only thing that mattered was Draco and the potion, in whatever form she received it. 

Today she watched as he emerged from the bathroom. She had just gulped down an entire teacup within seconds when he strode over. There was still water running down his chest, and his hair was still wet. He dried off in front of her. He really was quite attractive. She kept her eyes on him as he climbed onto the bed to kneel and stroke his cock in front of her. 

“Do you think you can focus and do it correctly under the influence?”

“Yes,” she nodded eagerly.

He gave her a skeptical look. “I think you’d say just about anything to have it; you’re a greedy little minx.”

Whether he was talking about the potion or his cock, she wasn’t sure. She wanted both very badly, and no longer had any shame in showing it. 

With familiar ease, he popped the emerald encased top of his poison ring back and dipped his pinky in it. Hermione watched in growing anticipation as he traced his finger over the swollen head of his erection and she licked her lips.

“Time for your medicine,” he said with a sexy leer. 

Hermione’s mouth fell open and she rose and fell on all fours to crawl towards him and take him into her mouth.

His hand immediately found an anchor in her hair as her tongue searched his length for every bit of the potion. The effects were immediate, her head felt light, and the rest of the world faded as the cock in her mouth became the center of the universe. It belonged to Draco, and he was everything that mattered right now. She tried to look up so she could see his face, his pleasure. His mouth was half open, and he was gasping and groaning, using her hair to move her mouth over him. When he withdrew before coming, she felt her heart clench in despair. Had she done something wrong?

And then he smiled. That rare smile, she liked to think of as exclusively hers. 

“On your back,” he ordered. 

Her breath came in a little faster, and she could feel herself grow wetter in anticipation. She lay back for him; legs spread open, as he watched her. 

“You’re beautiful,” he said. 

Her entire body blushed from his admiration. As her eyes moved from his to the prominent erection jutting out before her, she licked her lips and squirmed to express her need. He leaned down close, his nose almost touching hers. 

“Scream for me,” Draco whispered, his hand moving quickly to wrap around Hermione’s neck.

It wasn’t really a command or a serious threat. It was her cue. Those bright diamonds that sat in place where his eyes should have been were gleaming, just for her, and she could feel the hard fleshy steel of his full erection pressed at her entrance. It was hard not to move against it when he teased her like this. She was more than ready for him, but he wouldn’t give her what she needed until she accepted his invitation. 

She shook her head in protest, beating her fists into his chest, as she screamed just like a hostage ought to. He smiled, his fingers tightening around her throat. 

It was time for Draco’s daily fix, and for Hermione there was no shame in giving him what he wanted, she’d come to need it, too. 

Draco fell forward, his hard cock slipping inside of her like a familiar key inside a lock. Hermione moaned, wrapping herself around him. 

This time there were no whispers of things she should be protesting or resisting. The nagging vigilant voice of the old Hermione Granger was completely silent now. And Hermione took no notice of its absence, because she didn’t even miss it.

~~*~~

_“It’s alright, it’s alright,” she whispered._

_The boy in her arms was shivering badly. Cut and bruised, his glasses cracked. She removed them and wiped his brow._

_“We never should have been there,” he whispered against her breast. “This is all my fault, Hermione…. They followed me in there, I led them to their death.”_

_“How could you have known?”_

_“I should have known. What if you had been there? Or Ron? I would have never been able to forgive myself.”_

_“None of this is your fault, Draco. You didn’t start this war…we’re all just playing a role, and no one has all of the answers.”_

_His whole body shook as he laughed humorlessly. “Did I just hear correctly? Hermione Granger says no one has all of the answers?”_

_“Yes, you heard me correctly,” she said, rocking him close as she began to hum a familiar tune._

 

“What is that you’re humming?” Draco asked. 

Hermione blinked, suddenly aware she really was rocking him, as he held onto her tightly. There were real tears dampening her skin, and they weren’t hers. 

She tried to recall the dream, the memory of holding Harry after that last failed mission, but the details of Harry’s face didn’t come to her quick enough. Only Draco’s face was clear. 

Closing her eyes, Hermione squeezed Draco tighter as she continued to move back and forth in steady time. 

“It’s something my mum used to hum to me,” she said. “And I used to hum it to Harry and Ron on sleepless nights. Draco…”

“Yes?”

“Are you...are you crying?”

Draco's body went rigid, but he did not reply. 

"I won't judge you, Draco. What's wrong?"

“I can’t tell you,” he whispered.

“Yes, you can,” Hermione said in her most soothing voice, her hand sliding over his hair. 

“You’ll wish me dead.”

Hermione stopped rocking, dread rising in her gut. “Why? What is it?” 

He shook his head against her breast, clutching her tighter.

“Draco? Please…”

His hold around her slackened as he pulled back slowly. Hermione silently gasped at his tear-streaked face, her apprehension growing. What could possibly drive Draco to cry so freely like this, in her presence?

“What have you done?” she asked without thinking.

“Nothing!” he snapped.

Hermione drew back, watching him with new eyes. The haze of the opiate wasn’t strong enough to battle the dread she felt. Something was terribly wrong.

“You tell me right now, Draco.”

Draco flung back the duvet, and climbed out of bed, dressing hastily before making large strides to the corner chair to retrieve his robe. 

“Draco, please…if something’s happened to Ron or Harry…”

Draco flinched as if she had slapped him and she immediately regretted mentioning their names, and then felt shame for that regret. When did her loyalty to them become second to his feelings?

“They’re fine, Granger. They’re just fine,” he said before Disapparating, leaving Hermione bewildered and worried.

~~*~~

The following morning, when Hermione awoke, there was tea and toast on her nightstand. She tried to put off drinking any of it, hopeful that Draco would show and feed her in his own way, but by noon, the likelihood of him making appearance had diminished greatly. She re-read the longest book he had given her, trying to keep her mind off of him and whatever he had done that had driven him to tears. After dusk, dinner and more tea, she moved away from the window and curled up in bed, trying to will herself back to sleep where she could lose herself in pleasant dreams.

But all of her dreams were horribly dark, filled with the cries of faceless men. She tried to comfort all of them, tried to be their rock, but she was never enough. By the fifth day, she had resigned herself to the window, her energy and spirit drowning in the empty void his absence created, trying to remember the voice of her mother, of Mrs. Weasley, and Professor McGonagall. Surely they would have some advice for such wallowing, especially over a man, a Death Eater who had kidnapped and drugged her against her will. 

But their voices were hollow and small compared to one that reasoned that her attraction to Draco was logical and due to no fault of her own. He had treated her fairly well, fed her, brought her gifts, and he really did love her, in his own strange way. 

Ron, Harry, Mrs. Weasley and the rest would never be able to understand. Besides, where were they now? They had most certainly counted her as one of the dead, and now she was alone in the world. 

She didn’t even look back when a loud pop sounded behind her. 

“Just put it on the nightstand, Mimmy.”

“I could feed it to you, if you like,” Draco drawled. 

Hermione jumped to her feet, whirling around to face him, unable to contain the smile growing on her face. Draco was holding the tea in his hand and he went over to put it down on the windowsill. As soon as he did, Hermione went to him and wrapped her arms around him.

“Don’t ever leave me like that again,” she whispered, conscious but no longer caring about what she must sound like.

He pulled her to him tighter, giving her a firm squeeze. “I won’t.”

They held each other for several moments before pulling back to do an appraisal.

“You haven’t been sleeping well,” he said.

“Neither have you.” She smirked.

“I have just the cure for that,” he said, sliding out his belt. Hermione backed up, staring at it curiously, anticipation making her entire body feel alive with excitement. 

“But first…drink your tea.”

She nodded quickly, picking it up to gulp it down.

“Done,” she said, wiping off the spillover off her chin.

Draco watched her for a few moments, smiling as the familiar lightheaded dizziness took over her reason. She stretched out her arms as if offering herself up to him and he folded the belt in half, snapping it quickly so that it cracked loudly. 

Hermione felt her heart racing as he moved in, wrapping it around her throat and holding onto it like a collar. 

“You’re mine,” he declared.

“Yes,” she agreed.

“No one else’s.”

“No,” she said, drowning in his demanding stare. There were white spots appearing before her eyes as she stared into his diamonds.

“Completely mine, until death do us part.”

It was a beautiful thing to say and there was only one response. “I accept.”

He grinned wide pulling the belt and her over to the edge of the bed where he promptly turned her around and bent her over before lifting up her night robe to expose her arse to him.

“Now, scream for me…”

~~*~~

_She could hear the heavy thud of blasting curses from outside the safe house they were all huddled up in._

_They were too close…the safe house was supposed to be a secret. She jumped when a hand fell on her shoulder from behind._

_“It’s alright, Hermione. It’s just me,” whispered Draco._

_She relaxed a little, and even more when the other Draco crawled over to her other side._

_The three of them each took turns peeking out the window and saw a line of Death Eaters, surrounding the house, firing hexes, trying to break down the invisible safety ward that kept them protected._

_“How are we going to get out of here?” she asked._

_“Leave it to me,” the Draco on her right said, giving her a wink, his glasses magnifying the bright lines of silver in his eyes. Hermione exhaled a shaky breath and squeezed his hand._

_Even when he was at his most unsure, his inner confidence always gave her hope. When he gave her a confident small smile, she just knew everything was going to be alright._

 

The banging got louder and the walls began to shake, Hermione sat up, alarmed to find Draco dressing, his movements frantic and his face reflecting panic.

She looked down at herself, she was still nude. 

“What’s happening?” she asked, gripping the duvet close, as her eyes darted from him to the wall behind him. 

He licked his lips, staring back at her. “Oh Hermione…I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry about what? What’s on the other side of that wall? Draco?”

He took a deep breath and then pushed back his hair, holding his head, staring past her to the bay window. 

“Remember when I told you everything will be easier if you’d just do what I say?”

“Yes,” she said nervously.

“I need you to do that for me now.” 

“But Draco—”

“Please, Hermione…leave it to me.”

She watched as he walked around the bed and picked up her robe. He slid the pink silk belt out of the loops and smoothed it along its length. She gazed back at him in confusion, until he lifted it to her eyes. “Turn around for me.”

Slowly, Hermione turned around, and allowed him to cover her eyes. He secured it tightly and then turned her back around. She felt his smooth cool hand cupping her face, and caressing her cheek, and then one long finger tracing her lips. 

“Open wide for me.”

Kissing it, she let her tongue slide out to taste what she couldn’t see and then she let her mouth fall open. His finger slipped past her lips, and she sucked it in diligently. He removed it quickly, his mouth descending onto hers, tasting, licking, sucking. 

As their kiss deepened, the loud sounds of brick and mortar being blown away increased all around them, but it no longer mattered. 

The familiar light feeling was taking over, making Hermione dizzy and drunk with need for the man holding her. 

“Dance with me?” he said.

She giggled like a schoolgirl, and then laughed to hear herself giggle. “But we have no music, and I’m naked, silly.”

She could hear a smile in his words. “We don’t need any, just hum that tune you always sing at night.” 

She waited for his touch, and then his hand took hers, and she offered a mock curtsey. 

The entire room was starting to shake, and she could care less. Draco was here, and they were together.

He twirled her left and then took her right, and then spun her in a tiny circle. 

“You’re beautiful,” he said. 

No matter how many times he told her, it never got old, and she smiled to hear him say so. He stopped dancing, holding her close, and she could feel him fumbling around for something. 

“Malfoy! We know you’re in there, come out now!” someone shouted. 

She looked around in the darkness, and Draco grabbed her face, turning it back to him. “Never mind them; I want you to feel something.”

She waited with bated breath and listened as the crisp ruffling sound of paper being crumpled grew in front of her. A gasp escaped her as a gush of cool air hit her face. She inhaled deeply and smiled. It smelled like the forest and fresh spring air.

There was a loud boom and she whirled around but Draco stood in front of her, his back pressed against her front like a shield. She heard the stomping of several feet approaching and then silence and heavy breathing.

“Draco Malfoy, you have been named a Traitor to our Lord and are hereby charged with the crimes of hiding assets and property, aiding and abetting a dangerous fugitive, and defecting from the Death Eater ranks. Seize them both!”

Hermione’s mouth opened in shock, so many questions were running through her head, and with the effects of the potion running through her, she found it hard to focus on one. But she could hear them advancing towards them. 

Draco turned around and grabbed her by the shoulders, pushing her back. 

“Be free, Hermione, and know that I loved you.”

“Draco?”

He pushed her and she felt her bum sliding back over the windowsill and into nothing. There were several loud shouts of protest and then two dreadful words: 

_“Avada Kedavra!”_

Hermione reached out, waiting for her heart to stop beating, for her last breath to leave her. But the wind was still filling her nostrils, and chilling her naked body as she descended through the air.

She felt no fear. Pain and death were inevitable, only temporary stops to a place of eternal dreams. Draco had said that he loved her, and she believed that he had, in his own way. And under the cover of her blindfold, Hermione could still see his eyes gleaming brightly. She smiled, waiting for her next dream to begin.


End file.
